Love Blooms
by foggybythebay
Summary: This Yule, Hermione escapes to a tropical paradise, running from reminders of all that is missing in her life. She soon discovers that she'd always been surrounded by the treasure she thought long lost, because on Christmas Island, love is all around.
1. Snakes in the Forest

The bright blue of the ocean below is blinding.

_I need this_, she thinks. _I deserve this._

And, honestly, was such a reprieve too much to ask? One holiday away from the tragedies wrought by war and her lonely flat reminding her of three failed, short-lived romances— one so full of promise, the other two destined for doom. To make her sorry life even more pitiable, in the last year, she'd had to bid farewell to her beloved Crookshanks. Hermione thinks she might have cried more at _his _passing than over any one of her highly publicized breakups. And all the while, she continued to relive the heart wrenching pain of visiting her parents at St. Mungo's, where she'd put them after discovering their memories of her were still absent due to her own faulty Obliviations.

Sighing, she peers out of the little plane's window once more, searching for her chosen refuge.

They'd all protested her leaving, both friends _and _former beaus. Those blasted men who'd infuriatingly gone on to live their lives without so much as a hitch after her rather dramatic exits from each of their sides.

Once more, Hermione attempts to shrug off the depression of one wallowing in self-pity. One last look out the window and she sighs again, a small smile touching her lips.

_Christmas Island._

Earlier this month, she hadn't a clue where she might be spending the winter holiday. But three weeks into November, a peculiar meeting with Hannah Abbott had unexpectedly placed the secluded island on the map for Hermione. The more she thought on it, Hermione believed serendipity must have played a role in her unplanned meeting with the former Hufflepuff. After all, despite everything that had occurred in the past five years, after all the wretched, humiliating, embarrassing things that she'd experienced, there remained only one lament. It was something Hermione never spoke of, avoided thinking of, except during some of her loneliest moments when she wasn't distracting herself with wizards who basked in the limelight, or those darkly brooding. Yes, she remembers the treasured moment as though it was just yesterday... just as she bemoans it as her sole regret.

_No more! _She promises herself. Even if he was long gone from that dot on the sea, she was determined to do as the plane steward bid over the plane's tinny overhead speaker. Hermione Jean Granger was going to have a pleasant stay on the island... _even if it killed her!_

Sweating, unaccustomed to such direct sunlight, and nearly wishing for the frigid chill of London in winter, Hermione wonders if humidity might actually be the ultimate death of her. After 20 minutes of impatiently waiting for her private charter, she wanders back into the open air building, dragging along her rolling luggage, wondering if she might be able to score a rental car to begin her holiday at last. If the guide whom she hired to take her deep into the island's rainforest didn't show up soon, she'd have to figure out another way to get to Tong Chee House and eventually to The Pink House, the island's renown Education and Research Station located in the middle of the plateau rainforest. Hannah had informed her that the station served as a base for scientific research and education programs, both Muggle and magical.

"Miss Granger?"

The voice behind her is deep, masculine, and made a girl fantasize about warm, sultry island nights. Hermione distrusts it immediately. Trying to wipe a scowl off her face, she turns.

"Yes? That's me."

"Apologies, Miss Granger," he bows, reminding her of a kowtowing house-elf. "We were misinformed of your arrival time. Won't you come this way?"

"And who are you?" Hermione can't stop staring. The man dressed in a loose white shirt and linen trousers reminds her suspiciously of a sun-kissed Theodore Nott, one of many Slytherin wizards counted as missing since the start of the war. "Do I know you?" she asks suspiciously, tilting her head to the side to take a closer look.

"No, I've never been off this island," he assures, avoiding her scrutiny as he takes her luggage. She looks at him closely. Though appearing somewhat glamoured, the resemblance is uncanny. Sure, he fills his frame now— more man than boy— but it's his eyes, swiftly hooded, that hint of a mutually shared past. Belatedly, she notices the glinting gold of a wedding ring on his hand as he nudges her hand off the handle.

She frowns.

"Are you my guide? Because I specifically asked for a _woman_," she says, perturbed that he still refuses to look directly into her face. She spies a telltale quirk of his lips as she continues to talk.

_Slytherin._

She should know. After all, she'd cozied up to his snake of a housemate for nearly a year and a half, thinking she'd discovered a more suitable match to forward the Light's cause and general rebuilding.

"Theo," she casually orders, summoning her natural bossiness, "please be careful with that. There are potions in there that don't like to be jostled."

"Not to worry, Hermione. You trusted the steadiness of my hands enough in Potions class," he replies absently, shaking his head.

She smirks outright, then.

_Gotcha!_

Chagrined, he turns to look at her grinning self. "You haven't changed a bit, Granger," he grumbles.

"But _you _have," she says appraisingly. He colors as she admires him once again. "Any other of those cowardly Slytherin serpents you call cohorts with you?"

He smiles wryly, sweeping his hand at the 4x4. "Get in, Granger. You've always been too bloody smart for your own good."

Laughing, she swings herself into the vehicle, inwardly impressed with his deft handling of the Muggle four- wheeler. She senses he doesn't want to talk and she is far too taken by the breathtaking vistas to bother with conversation, anyway. Too soon, they arrive at her accommodations which sits nestled in front of the rainforest while offering views of Flying Fish Cove.

"Swanky digs," Theo mutters as he throws his lanky legs out the door. "I suppose you'll be expecting Malfoy soon?"

Hermione, to her tribute, bites back a heated insult, and pastes on a placid smile while shaking her head no. "Potter, then? Or is it Weasley, this month?" he inquires lightly, a touch of rancor in his tone.

"The Prophet seems to be getting to you quite slowly here," she replies, exhaling tiredly. "No, there's no one, Theo. Just me and this house."

Carrying her light luggage up the front steps, he stares at her curiously, not sure what to say to a single Hermione. He'd never really been around when she was footloose and fancy-free.

"It would seem that _you_, however, are having no trouble with your love life," she adds, gesturing toward his hand. He smiles, running a thumb against the metal band around his finger. He nods.

"Zabini and Longbottom are here, too," he at last offers. "I think you probably already knew about Nev, but likely not Blaise."

If there was one threesome less likely to go into the rainforest together, it would be these three. Hermione shakes her head, realizing she'd just leapt out of the frying pan and straight into the fire when she'd stepped onto this picture postcard of an island.

"All acting as tour guides?" she quips with a dry laugh, hiding her trepidation at meeting Neville after such a long time. She doesn't know how to feel about Zabini being on the island. He was simply temptation on legs, one she had to resist, not that she'd found much success with that in the past.

"It's a living, Granger, and I've got mouths to feed," Theo replies, amused by her shocked expression at his use of the plural. "Blaise, is still the Italian Stallion around these parts, and Nev... Well, he's been pushing around plants at the research center since Hannah finally caught on and left."

"You have children?" Hermione breathes, ignoring his comments about Neville and Hannah.

"Just one. A two-year-old, Maxwell," he says with obvious pride. Theo looks to her and she recognizes the young man he'd been after Commencement, on the one night he dared to bare his heart to her, right after Ron had offered her a life she thought she could handle so soon after the war. Theo smiles ruefully, seeming to remember it, too. "You never did see what I could have offered you, Hermione, not when you were so thoroughly blinded by the glare of platinum blond or, in my case, fiery red." He smiles wryly. "I wasn't going to hold out on the hope that you ever would. Not when those other three were gunning for you. The war came, I cut my losses. Came here."

She extends a hand, but Theo steps back, out of her reach. Her heart pinches.

"She loves me, Granger. I have a life, a family, with her. What could've been between you and me is past," he says wistfully to the darkening sky. With face averted, the setting sun hits his dark hair, making it gleam and Hermione's breath catches at the sight. "But it seems you've still some unfinished business with someone else on this island," he adds softly. "Here's my number. Call me when you're ready to go to The Pink House."

At her nod, Theo returns to the jeep and with a quick wave he is gone.

* * *

><p>"Cara!"<p>

Blaise's booming voice hadn't changed one iota and it has Hermione grinning. She'd been paralyzed in the hammock staring at the paper Theo left her while mosquitos feasted on her exposed ivory skin.

"Hermione?"

The dark-skinned god of a wizard stops short when he spies Hermione reclining on the porch, dressed in a flowing white sundress. He waves his wand, shielding her from the buzzing pests, with a handy mosquito net and insect repellent charm.

She turns to smile, welcome in her eyes. She doesn't speak, but he knows she wonders.

"Nott said you were on the island, and of course— I am here!"

Her relationship with Blaise was a torrid one. Friends with benefits, Ginny had characterized it. Whenever Hermione found herself between men and mightily in need of a wizard's... _ah... wand_, Blaise was more than willing to go to great lengths to please her.

Now, he sits at her feet, causing the hammock to sway beneath them, stirring up a tiny breeze that carries with it the scent of his familiar, spicy cologne.

"Cara, why are you alone? Do you need some company?" Her lips quirk at the obvious suggestion in his half- feigned concern for her well-being.

"No, Blaise," she sighs, "Though tempting, I don't think making a habit of falling into bed with you is a good idea."

"Who said anything about a bed?"

She laughs, kicking him lightly with her toe. "Stop, Zabini!"

He pouts and she sits up to throw her arms around him. She gives him a resounding, though, friendly kiss on the cheek. His impetuous hands try to draw her into a more amorous embrace, but when he has her straddling his hips, she grabs hold of both his ears and commands him to stop.

"You're more receptive to my advances when you're angry at Draco," Blaise grumbles, setting the hammock swinging again. "What do you say to getting him here so he can make you mad again?"

She shakes her head, no, most definitely not. "Why are you sad, cara?" he soothes, rubbing a broad palm against her back. "What did he do this time?"

"I'm the one who left. _Me. Again_." she says, pitifully. "Seems I don't leave much of a mark in the lives of men I walk away from, Blaise. Least of all Draco's. He's seeing someone new already."

She watches Zabini's face twist, carrying a bit of contempt in his features.

"Harry and you... _ugh_... two goody goodies. Too good to be true, that. You and the ginger git, a recipe for disaster. Malfoy?" he chuckles softly. "You two were always more flash than steady flame. I knew that one would end badly."

"Then why did you keep supporting me in my efforts to save my relationship with Draco?"

He sends her a sly look. Zabini was nothing if not an opportunist. "I was the beneficiary of the spoils of those battles, wasn't I?"

She smacks his shoulder, but it does nothing to wipe the look of smug self-satisfaction off his far too handsome face. Well, Hermione acquiesces, truth be told, she'd had her fair share of Zabini's riches, too.

"So, if you're not here to track me down to shag me senseless, lion, why are you here?" Her gaze turns back to the scrap of paper in her hand. Zabini peers over her shoulder into her palm. "So, you're finally going to do what should have been done long before Viktor, hm?"

"You know?"

"Cara, _everyone _knows."

* * *

><p>Morning dawns bright on Christmas Island and much to Hermione's dismay Theo isn't one to allow her to dawdle.<p>

"You found your way here for a reason, Hermione," he nearly sing-songs as he twists open the blinds.

_Blast this island for not supplying locks on the doors! _Hermione thinks grouchily as she gropes at the light coverlet to pull it over her head. "Don't you have your own family to tend to?" she grumbles. He laughs, saying something about how she was the one providing him with a paycheck these next few weeks and he was simply doing his duty as her employee.

She shoves her head under a pillow, cursing Blaise for having had stayed long into the night, surprisingly keeping his hands to himself, though his unsolicited advice did not stay locked behind his constantly flapping mouth.

"... and as flattering as it might be for me to fantasize that it was your long denied desire for me that drew you here, I do know better," Theo continues in a far too chipper voice. "We're not getting any younger, witch. Up and at 'em!"

"Go away! Theo!" she grumbles.

"That worked once, Hermione," he laughs at his poor attempt at a joke. "Not today. You're wasting time. Granger! Get up!"

The covers are unceremoniously ripped from her supine form. A pair of shorts and tank top are careless tossed her way, knocking her in the face.

"Oi! Nott! Knock it off!"

Judging from the sound of his merciless chuckle, Theo seems to be gathering great pleasure in ordering her around. Hermione hears him rummaging in the kitchen and realizes that he's gained quite a bit of Muggle skills while in hiding. Soon the lovely smell of coffee wafts over her, urging her awake in a way none of Nott's manhandling can.

Dressed and pulling a brush through her unruly mop of hair, Hermione pads her way to the kitchen where she hears a pair of masculine voices. At her entrance, the conversation halts.

"I adore Muggle clothes," whistles one at the sight of her in a pair of short shorts and a rather flimsy tank top.

"And warm island breezes," intones the other. "A waste that body would be under cloaks in London right now."

She casts them both a withering look, though inside she basks in their compliments. She turns to pour herself a cuppa and scolds Theo.

"You're a married man, you git." He shrugs. "And you, Blaise, are simply a git." The latter grins.

"Finish that quickly, Hermione," Blaise urges. "Lest we have to trek through the rainforest and brave creatures of all sorts to find Longbottom. I'd rather we just drop you off at The Pink House and run."

"Run where?" she asks, muttering an oath since she'd managed to burn her tongue.

"Away!" They respond in unison, reminding her of a young George and Fred. She raises a brow, but neither offers an explanation for their desire to cut and run. No sooner had she satisfied her caffeine fix than she was hustled into the 4x4 and carted off to the Research Center.

"It's wizards only today!" Blaise explains on a shout. "So, Neville's alone in there." Hermione notices Theo saying something, but the motor and the wind keep the words from her ears.

"Did you bring your wand?" Theo shouts over Blaise's explanation of the building's layout.

"Whatever for?" she asks guardedly. She hadn't cast a spell since stepping foot on the island. In fact, the last spell she'd cast was the stinging hex aimed at Draco's bum just as she'd strode out the Manor's doors. She'd chosen to do without her wand today. The feeling of safety and security had been the one thing that had kept her calm since arriving at her little vacation destination.

She notices the men glance meaningfully at one another. "Never mind," Blaise says. "You'll be safe enough, I think." On that ominous note, Theo kills the motor and she sits facing the education center. It is indeed, _pink_.

"So, it looks like he's still in there," Theo says, pointing at the Hellraiser 2010, the latest in speed brooms, according Malfoy, who considers himself an aficionado about such things. Hermione only recognizes it because she'd considered the purchase of one for Draco's birthday last year. She wonders why Neville, who she remembered as having despised flying almost as much as herself when they were younger, owned such a reckless model.

"Well, then, there you are, cara," Blaise said with some finality, offering her a hand down. As soon as her feet touches soil, Zabini swings himself back onto the 4x4.

"Wait!" she cries before Theo can gun the motor. "How will I get back to the house?"

The two stare silently at each other again and Hermione decides she wants to hurl something sharp and heavy at the both of them for the secretive glances that leaves her odd man out.

"Just call me," Theo says. "There's a phone inside. Though something tells me..."

"... you won't be going home tonight, cara. At least not alone," Zabini finishes meaningfully. They share sly Slytherin smiles. But before she can bend to grab the nearest large rock, the 4x4's motor roars to life and, within minutes, Hermione is left by herself at the front steps.

By the looks of things, The Pink House seems almost abandoned. At so early in the morning, no one is around and she feels like she's trespassing. Zabini had instructed her to go to the west side of the house, near the greenhouses, to find Neville. Since it was still quite early, the sun hadn't yet hit that side of the building and Hermione shivered a little in her skimpy outfit.

"Hello?" she calls out weakly, not sure if she wants to give Neville that much forewarning that she is on the premises. She comes to a closed door. She opens the door a crack and peeks into pitch black. She reaches in, sliding her fingers against the wall in search of a switch. At last, she finds purchase and the overhead light flickers on.

"Buggering hell! Zabini!" a deep voice shouts. "How many times have I told you not to turn on the light when I'm in here?"

The wizard wearing a lab coat has his back to her, his dark hair in wild disarray. Had she not already known this was Neville, she never would have believed it was him. He was as tall as Ron, broader across than Harry, not lithe like Malfoy. Even through the layers of fabric, Hermione could see his muscles bunch. His profile offered a stubble roughened, chiseled jaw.

"Neville?" She breathes, still unsure of whether it is him. He whips around at the sound of her voice.

"So, you've decided to grace me with your presence, at last," he bites this out bitterly, the look on his face, surprisingly angry. "Had to see Theo and Blaise first though, didn't you? Blaise spend the night, then?" The venom in his voice is unmistakable. The sparking fury in his eyes has her taking a step back. "As it always is, isn't it? Good old, reliable, Neville, always the last in line for you?"

She gasps at the whipping lash of his words. She expects this from the others, but not from _him_. _Never him_. Clearly, this was not the Neville Longbottom of yesteryear. This was a very different wizard than the one who lived in the sparkling froth of her most treasured, albeit most painful, memories.

* * *

><p><em>Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.<em>


	2. Untouched by Time

_This story is rated M for a reason..._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Fourth Year... A few days AFTER the announcement of the Yule Ball<em>**

* * *

><p>She was crying. <em>Again<em>. This madness simply had to stop. For the umpteenth time she was cursing her hormones for this new, undesired, sensitivity. In the last quarter of an hour, Hermione had overheard Ron telling someone he'd never be able to see her as an actual female, then watched Harry rush off to meet with a gorgeous Cho, and finally had been cornered by Malfoy who'd gravely insulted her looks... _again_.

All she'd planned to do that evening was get to the empty Potions lab and go over the next day's work. Was it too much to ask that her travels between her common room and the dungeons remain drama free? She was making the journey for Neville, who, if truth be told, held a very special place in her heart, though, she never really examined what exactly she felt for him. It simply never seemed important to think about his place in her life because he was simply _there. Always_. Besides which, she was forever trying to help him out of fixes and jams and she never did quite forgive herself for throwing the body-bind curse on him their first year.

Anyway, just that afternoon Neville had approached her, terrified he wouldn't be able to produce the correct potion for Snape's class the following day and had desperately asked Hermione for some tutoring assistance. She'd agreed without a second thought. She always enjoyed her time with Neville. No matter what anyone said, she knew, having spent so much study time with him, that he was far brighter than her best mates, rivaling Theo Nott's smarts, and certainly far more academic than the likes of Malfoy. It was just that he lacked confidence in his magical abilities. It wasn't his fault he was this way. Clearly, his grandmother had implanted the ridiculous idea in his head that he wasn't worthy to walk the halls of Hogwarts, Hermione had thought scornfully.

Sniffling and drying her still teary eyes, she knocked on the Potions door to give Neville fair warning it was her. She pushed open the door and caught sight of him, his back to her, his dark vest pulled across his broadening shoulders. Hermione watched his fingers move nimbly as he cut into some of the ingredients on the table. He was doing this so capably, she wondered at his inability to do the same in class.

"Neville?" she'd whispered.

She noticed him startle and his hands turned suddenly clumsy on the knife. Hastily he tossed the last of the ingredients into the steaming cauldron. Hermione took an unconscious step back, waiting for an explosion that surprisingly doesn't come.

"H-hey, H-Hermione," he stuttered, thankfully placing the knife on the table. "I didn't hear you." She smiled softly, though the joy didn't quite reach her eyes. He noticed and moved quickly to her side. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

"Nothing, Neville," she answered bravely. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before, anyway."

"Can I help?" She gazed at his earnest expression and when her eyes lingered, he colored and she smiled quietly at his bashfulness. "...Y-you deal with it. H-help you deal with it, I mean," he clarified.

"Sure," she said, ready to throw off the depression for the attention of the clearly infatuated male standing right in front of her. "Distract me, Neville. Tell me how I can help you!"

"I heard from the Hufflepuffs that we're to make Felix Felicis tomorrow and I need to get it right. I won't be able to handle Snape shouting at me again." He shuddered at the thought and Hermione patted the crook of his arm comfortingly. He stilled at her touch, recovered and placed a hand atop her own.

"I don't think your sources are right, Neville," she cautioned, moving away when she felt his hand had lingered too long. "Felix Felicis is an advanced potion and we're only Fourth Year."

"Oh," he'd said, seemingly confused. "But I think I've already got it done, Hermione. I just needed you here so I could check with a partner... You know, in case I'd gotten it wrong."

Looking curiously into the warming cauldron, Hermione discovered the contents were the colour of molten gold. Large drops of the golden liquid leaped like goldfish above the surface. She cast a wondrous eye at Neville who refused to meet her gaze. This seemed nearly impossible a feat. Hermione knew that this particular potion was desperately tricky to make and disastrous when it was brewed wrong. The fact that Neville, of all wizards, had managed to concoct it all on his own seemed highly unlikely.

"Who helped you?" she demanded, not realizing the question was quite, quite rude. Neville frowned, holding up a battered text.

"No one! I told you, Hermione. I did it myself."

"Okaaay," she said incredulously. "Let me look at your book." With head lowered, she read the characteristics of the potion, confirming each point. "Well, Neville, it appears as though you've done it!" she announced, excitedly, eyes gleaming. Proud of him. He smiled at the sight of her happy animation. He'd meant for this to happen, _exactly this way_.

"Shall I try it, then?" he asked, moving his fingers toward a handy spoon that just happened to be next to the cauldron.

"Yes!" she urged, pushing aside her earlier distress. Eager to watch, she pulled up a stool, placing her elbows on the edge of the table and her chin in her upturned hands. "Go on!"

He dipped the tablespoon into the cauldron, allowing the golden liquid to coat the spoon. Watching him bring the spoon to his lips did curious things to her insides. He was quite good looking, now, having lost his baby fat in favor of his new lithe form. His features were still a bit rounded, pleasantly so, though, and he always looked at her so sweetly. She sighed inwardly.

"Mmmmm," he rumbled. "Delicious, Hermione."

"Really?" she breathed, mesmerized. There was a new look in his eye now, one that she didn't recognize.

Maybe if it had come from Malfoy she'd know it better... _but from Neville? _

"C'mere, Hermione," he said, holding out a hand, "Fancy a taste?"

She'd nodded and without thinking, she placed her hands in his. He gently pulled her against him. She hadn't realized how much bigger Neville was than she. He'd dipped his head down to hers, hesitated momentarily, his lips hovering millimeters above hers. _An unspoken request._

After months of being cast aside for prettier girls, being insulted for what other boys had deemed her less than attractive physical attributes, Hermione seized this inexplicably breathless moment for herself.

Neville was looking at her like she was the most desirable, most gorgeous girl in the world and she _needed _this feeling. No, she _wanted _this wondrous, giddy feeling so very, very desperately. So, Hermione threaded her fingers through the softness of the dark waves at Neville's nape, drawing his mouth closer to hers. The feel of her fingers urging him forward was enough of a yes for Neville to gently place his lips, still wet from the golden elixir, atop hers. A shiver of rightness streaked through her at the meeting of mouths. And there it was, the ambrosial taste of the potion on her tongue. _Yesss_, her mind cried. And she tightened her hold on him.

"It's not Amortentia, Hermione," he whispered, his lips moving against hers. She'd long hopped off the stool to plaster herself against him.

She nodded, understanding what he wanted her to know.

"I've wanted this a long time. Only with you," he'd said confidently, in a voice almost demanding. She nodded again. She'd known this truth about him and she all at once realized that this was something she'd been wanting from him, too. Her fingers moved to his jaw, where stubble she hadn't realized he'd regularly magicked off, had started to grow again.

His hands moved against her, stirring up exciting, confusing sensations... _wonderful _sensations. How did Neville know where to touch her to make her wish to squirm closer to him? He seemed to guess her silent question.

"Book learning, same as you," he whispered against her neck, his newly stubbled chin, raking some red there. "And a wizard's magazine or two," he admitted naughtily against her ear.

A picture of this suddenly assertive Neville wanking to one of those forbidden periodicals unleashed itself in Hermione's very healthy imagination. She moaned at the vivid image her mind created. He seemed to have learned quite a bit from them, she mused, as his teeth nipped at her exposed collarbone. She whimpered. _More_, she thinks greedily.

"Grandmother always said to be wary of the humdrum wizards. Didn't anyone ever tell you that, Hermione? You never know what milk toast wizards like me might be focusing our energies on learning. Do you honestly think those other boys, any one of those preening peacocks, care for anything else but themselves? Highly doubtful," he said softly, nuzzling against her ear.

"I, myself, have made a complete study of the female anatomy. Care to test me on my discoveries?" his teasing smile was sensual and his journeying fingers convinced Hermione that he might just deserve an "O" before he'd even started to display his knowledge.

Beneath lowered lashes, Hermione watches his hand move beneath her shirt whites. The touch of his fingertips against her tummy threw her thoughts into a tailspin. She is unable to comprehend exactly how she'd found herself in this particular male's arms. Not that she didn't want to be there, but certainly this authoritative version of Neville was far more intriguing a specimen than the one she'd always known. And where had all her own inhibitions flitted off to?

Momentarily, he touched his nose to hers. His dark gaze captured her look of wanton abandon, forever etching the sight of her this way, wanting only him, into his memory. With a finger, he traced the outline of her lush lips. Her eyes glazed over, unable to comprehend anymore of his speech as his hands roamed and paid homage to places on her body yet untouched by anyone but herself.

"Nev—" she gasped when he tweaked her tight bud, the very one that had been seeking his attention against his chest. Merlin, he was causing all sorts of embarrassing responses from her untutored body and she didn't care a whit. She felt him smile against her neck. "Like that do you, witch?" he inquired a bit gruffly, a little playful taunt in his tone.

She nodded, her curls entangling with the heavy weight of his dark locks. She threw her head backwards, her wavy mane drawing his fringe against his brow.

"I've been dreaming about you for months, Hermione. To be able to touch you this way, draw out those needy sounds from your mouth. I want you to feel how much I adore you... just the way you are. Those other buffoons are idiots for being blind to your beauty. They don't deserve your tears."

She hadn't known, hadn't given a second thought to the more frequent glances he'd been sending her. She hadn't registered the accidental touch of his body against hers whenever the opportunity arose. She never imagined he could even feel this way about a girl, never mind that girl being her.

How insulting for her never to have thought of it, she scolded herself. How lucky she had allowed herself to open her mind and heart to such the possibility that this reality with him might even exist. Hermione decided, as she felt his warm hand sweep against her bare thigh, that she was certainly one lucky witch to discover this secret, sensuous Neville hiding beneath his baggy plaid jumpers and clumsy mannerisms.

"You are lovely to watch," he continued, his hands now toying against the sides of her plain cotton knickers. He looks to her, eyebrow raised, seeking consent. She nods and triumphantly, with one sweep, he draws them down her legs. With slightly impatient hands, he steered her back toward the stool and guided her to sit.

"What will it feel like to have these long limbs wrapped around my waist, I wonder?" he murmured sensually, before catching her lips with his hungry mouth once again. He used his clever hands to guide her legs around him so his curiosity might be satisfied.

"Have you ever done this, Hermione?" he asked, daring to touch her most intimate place beneath her uniform skirt. She cries out when his fingertip grazes the bundle of nerves she'd never quite been able to make feel this good under her own hand. She whispered her no and he softened his caresses. "Me neither, Hermione. I'd always wanted my first time to be with you."

Her eyelids drift shut as his mouth closes over one of her breasts. Reverently he laves its tip and she sighs.

_Heavenly_.

She craves more friction... _everywhere_... and is dismayed to discover he's still clothed. She stops his movement, with a tug to his hair and impatiently tears away his tie. He offers her a lopsided grin as he watches her rip at his garments. She reaches beneath his vest to pull his shirt from his trousers. Her greedy fingers find their way to his abdomen and she stops suddenly, surprised to feel the contours of some well- formed muscles beneath her open palm.

"Surprised?" he chuckled, flexing his abs against her touch. "I suppose that's reasonable. Care to touch some of my _other _muscles?"

Hermione smirked at his bawdy suggestion, but can't quite make herself reach for the fastening of his trousers. So, her needy gaze turned back to his.

"What do you want, Hermione?" His voice is throaty, sexy. Hermione almost laughed at the adjective. Not once before this moment had she thought Neville Longbottom the least bit sexy. Suddenly, he made to pull away. She grabbed at him, voicing her protest. "What do you want, Hermione?" he repeated bossily. His tone told her he wouldn't allow her to remain silent any longer.

"I want you, Nev—" she gasped when he drags her hand to touch him, curling her fingers around that mysterious, pulsing part of him, letting go only when he was sure her curiosity wouldn't allow her hand to retreat. "Merlin, you're hot," she breathed wondrously, her fingers tentatively mapping his length and girth. He moaned deep in his throat and she thrilled at the sound. "I want all of you," she dared to admit, "But, how —?" the worry in her voice was clear. Despite her concern, she gently tugged him closer, allowing the tip of him to graze against her moist folds. He expelled a muttered oath.

"The books say we're meant to fit," he groaned this as her hands continued their movements, memorizing him and continuing the breath-stealing friction. He was afraid he might not last long enough to feel all of her around him. "Please, Hermione," he pleaded. "I promise to be careful. Please."

Biting the inside of her lip, she nodded, just as desperate to be filled with him as he was to feel her wet softness wrap around him. He pushed forward, her hand guiding him. She gasped at the sensation of total completion. He stares deeply into her eyes and she knows this means as much to him, perhaps even more, than it does to her. A tear falls to trail down her cheek and he kisses it away.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you."

"It doesn't hurt" she assured quietly, feeling the curious fullness of him inside her. "This is just so beautiful, Neville. How could I not have known how much..." her voice hitched as his movements drew him in deeper. "How much... I love you?"

And with those words spoken, her arms and legs pulled him further forward until he was fully seated within. A thrill of energy coursed through their joined bodies and though there was a twinge of pain for her and exquisite torture for him, they realized how momentous this was for both of them as their breathing turned ragged.

They moved together, following an organic, sensual rhythm all their own. He'd know this position would grant him the most access, as well as, offer her the stimulation she needed to fly over the edge. What he hadn't realized was how quickly they would both reach that point of ecstasy. He shouted in triumph and she shrieked her pleasure with strokes that seemed to simultaneously last a lifetime, while also being far too short-lived.

Surely, it was dumb luck, he thought, that Snape's glass vials were somewhat protected from her high-pitched scream of ultimate satisfaction. Quite lucky, that he'd placed a silencing charm on the entire room before she'd entered. Luckier, indeed, that he'd thought to point his wand at the door to lock it as she examined his text and potion. Even luckier that he taken a taste of the potion before her arrival and listened to its confusing suggestion to place a contraception charm on himself while he was still alone in the lab.

It was only as she hung limply in his arms, nuzzling her face against his neck, that Neville unwisely chose to go against the potion's guidance.

"I love you, too," he'd whispered into the mussed mess of her hair. "Will you let me take you to the Ball?" He'd felt her go still around him, then, felt her awkward retreat from his embrace as he slipped soundlessly out of her.

"Nev–" she'd started to say. But he couldn't bear to hear her refusal, so he'd tried, as a desperate young man might, to draw her back into a thought-clearing kiss. She'd averted her face at the exact moment his lips would have fused to hers and it was in that moment of her obvious regret that his heart was torn asunder.

Reluctantly, he lifted himself away from her. Silently, with his wand, he cast a cleaning spell on the both of them, then paused to ensure each of their buttons and ties were meticulously replaced and knotted. If she wondered at his efficient and effective use of his wand, he didn't notice. He was too busy pushing against the horrifying swelling in his chest that threatened an onslaught of tears at her silent, but clearly felt rejection. When he'd finished with what he'd started to think of as his ablutions, he paused. Eyes downcast, he watched her nervously wring her fingers.

"When you want what I have to offer you, which is far more than only _this_, come find me," he'd whispered, his heart breaking as he swept out of the room without a backwards glance.

* * *

><p><em>Yule Ball, 1994<em>

* * *

><p>He hadn't been able to stay away.<p>

Though he tried to give her a wide berth, with the absence of Felix Felicis in his bloodstream, Neville reverted back to the comfort of his well-practiced clumsy mannerisms. Hermione had mercifully remained steadfastly at his side, supportive through his self-inflicted torment in the classrooms. She'd whispered once, that above all, she wanted his friendship, but it had been lovely, she'd assured, to be his one-time lover. Beyond that one mention, they hadn't spoken of their intimate night in the Potions lab.

He'd almost thought it had been some sort of brilliant dream, but the lingering looks she'd occasionally cast his way told him it had indeed been real, a fantastic moment in time that they'd both enjoyed and shared up until the earth-shattering end.

So, when he saw her descend the staircase that night of the Yule Ball to proudly claim the arm of one Viktor Krum, though his heart broke anew, Neville had done the gentlemanly thing and withdrawn. Focusing, instead on showering his attention on Ginny, his own date for the dance.

Later, after he'd seen Ginny back to the Tower to meet Third Year curfew, he'd returned, stag, to the party and dared to approach Hermione to request a dance. She smiled, and held onto his offered hand, their bodies meeting in a familiarity that their friends would have wondered at, had anyone been paying attention. But it wasn't their friends who were watching.

As the evening waned, Neville, had frowned, silently witnessing the heated exchange between the trio which left Hermione dissolving in tears... _again_, and her Bulgarian date nowhere to be found. Gathering up some legendary Gryffindor courage, Neville made his way to her side to kneel beside her. By then, the party goers had mostly wandered back to their dormitories and the weepy witch had picked a secluded part of the stairway to fall to pieces.

She would have had her privacy if he hadn't already been watching her. Neville gently tapped her chin with a curled finger, offering her a supportive smile, and a wink when he gestured above them. Her eyes widened, then twinkled, amused, and to his delight, quite pleased to catch herself under the mistletoe with him. She lifted her lips to his. And for a breathtaking moment, they were both transported back to their magical experience in the Potions classroom.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he'd whispered against the petal-soft skin at crook of her fragrant neck when they'd at last broken from their heart-stopping kiss. "I'll always love you," he'd added on a barely audible breath.

She stilled for a moment, ripping his heart out once more. He hadn't moved until he felt her gently place a kiss against his temple. He looked up in time to catch the wistful glance she sent him before departing.

And with that, a new tradition was born. Each year, on Christmas, he'd met her beneath the mistletoe to share one single, heart-rendering kiss.


	3. Snarling Lions

_Back in the Pink House...  
>present day<em>

* * *

><p>Last year was the first year Neville hadn't been around to catch her under the mistletoe. Her heart ached at the empty space beneath the Burrow's hallway arch. He had Hannah to keep him warm, Hermione had comforted herself with this thought, an envious one if she'd been at all truthful to herself.<p>

His being gone, she assured herself, had nothing to do at all with the fact she'd chosen Draco with whom to celebrate her holidays. Of course, she told herself, Neville's virtual disappearance had nothing at all to do with the fact that the entire wizarding world knew she'd chosen the near heartless Slytherin over a number of other, more notable, and far more worthy wizards.

Neville's seclusion somewhere with Hannah allowed Hermione to excuse herself from her repeated self- defeating behavior toward the only wizard who'd remained constant in his love for her, the very one for whom she secretly still held a torch.

But, when she found Hannah back in London a few weeks ago, and heard from the witch's own mouth that she'd left Neville for good, Hermione couldn't, _wouldn't_, stand by and do nothing. And in making that pronouncement... she'd single-handedly caused the rift between herself and Malfoy that eventually tore them apart during what was supposed to be the happiest time of the year.

Truth be told, her feelings for Neville had always eventually come to eclipse the feelings she held for any other man in her life. It couldn't be simply a coincidence that each of her misbegotten romances had fallen apart at Christmas time. Though she hadn't wanted to admit it, the empty space under the mistletoe last year, and the promise of his absence this year, had been too difficult to bear knowing he was alone somewhere without her. It seemed that it had taken Neville's flight from her life to allow Hermione to at last come to grips with a truth that she'd faced when she'd been far too young to handle such a life-altering turn.

Now, in front of her, she stares at Neville's grim expression. Bravely, she lifts her chin, knowing that it had taken her an unforgivable amount of time... _years_... to finally come to the realization that she had been wrong in her initial rejection of him and the love he'd so freely offered her.

"Run out of wizards to ride, Hermione?" his snarl rivals the worst of the Slytherins' offerings. "Come back to at last stake a claim on a schoolboy's naive promise made to you when we were just teens?"

_Well_, she thinks stubbornly, _when he put it that way, she felt utterly ridiculous to have shown up at all. _The look on her face doesn't refute his assumption. "Presumptuous," he laughs contemptuously, his expression hard. "Even for _you_, Hermione."

The coldness in his voice belies the hurt, years of it, borne from watching her attach herself to all sorts of men, powerful wizards in their own rights, who'd each proven themselves undeserving of her.

_But he'd kept his mouth shut, hadn't he? Even tried to move on with Hannah, all the good that turned out to be!_

Tired of the heavy silence, the pleading in her gaze, and the niggling bit of hope that flared in his traitorous heart— one that the callous witch would no doubt extinguish before this day was through, Neville turns his back on her. Instead, he focuses his attention on what he knows is true, the one thing that might even flourish under his tender loving care. It was a discovery he'd made in the depths of the rainforest, just weeks before, and now it lies, still very much alive, on the tray next to his hand. _Dendrobium daklakense_. An extremely rare plant species known only to exist in Mozambique. Yet he'd found it here, on Christmas Island.

_So fitting, _he thinks, a wry smile touching his lips.

"Shut the light," he commands, ignoring the latent anger, the pounding of his heart, trying desperately to ignore her presence. Her infuriating scent hadn't changed at all from the one that lived on in his head. Her floral-tipped fragrance, uniquely Hermione, filled his nostrils, whirling his senses, calling back memories he refused to admit having revisited an unhealthful number of times.

Thankfully, without a sound, she complies with his gruff request. His breathing evens out as he is again cloaked in shadows, his wand light the only source of illumination in a room darkened by blackout shades.

"What's happened to you, Neville?" she dares to ask at last.

He scoffs in a rude, exasperated sort of way. She'd taken a tentative step forward, stopping at his brusque noise.

"What _hasn't _happened to me, Hermione?" he replies, embittered. "What does heartbreak do to a man? What does chronic rejection do to someone? What does sharing the limelight with The Chosen One, only to have that glory snatched away, do to a person who had once been quite content to sit in the background of such heroism? What sort of soul twisting agony does someone go through when witnessing the worst sort of Death Eater gain unmitigated respect... _and claim the girl._.. in this sodding new world!"

Silence engulfs them at his last vehement exclamatory question. After what seems like an eternity, her voice rings out in the darkness.

"Yes, Neville, what does that all do to a man such as you?" she asks quietly.

He lets out an aggravated huff. She watches him move to a light-filled side room where he tugs on some hiking boots, slides on some shades, and throws on a worn hat. He chooses to pretend she doesn't exist. And if there was one thing that irritated Hermione to no end, it was the feeling of being ignored. Because of this, she rediscovers her tenacity.

_Besides_, she figures, _what's a little more humiliation, considering? _She is already there, after all, with no ride home, and no magic to speak of. In some bizarre sense, it feels right for her to push her way into the small room where he sits and demand his attention. So, she does this very thing, but finds that all she can manage is a self-righteous stare.

He casts her a wary look and with a grim face, stands, careful not to touch her, and turns to wrench open the door. The screen door slams in her face, thudding twice against the frame after he yanks it shut. She watches him stride into the cover of the rainforest.

She hears his loud angry bellow from behind the cover of vegetation and she shoots out the door following his alarming cry. Unsure of where she is, without any sort of navigational tools, or a working wand, she immediately realizes her folly. She prays he'll call out again. When he does, a heart-wrenching cry at that, she worries that he's hurt. She follows the sound and finds him in a clearing, his back to her.

"Why are you here?" he shouts frustratedly, his hands swiping against eyes he refuses to direct at her. She gulps. "I don't know," she replies, her cowardice winning out. "Then leave!" he growls, staring at the trees in front of him. "Go away!"

"Are you hurt?"

"What the buggering hell do you care, Hermione?" he swears loudly, turning at last to face her. "You never bothered with that concern before!"

She stands staring, wide-eyed, realizing the truth in his accusation. She had never once voiced her overwhelming concern for him, through school, amidst war, during the rebuilding... _never_. Perhaps, she never asked because she'd been too frightened to face anything that might cause her to know he felt any pain. Because if she ever did discover he was hurt, or dead, she knew she wouldn't be able to breathe, wouldn't be able to live.

"I care," she whispers. "I always have. From the moment I held your hand to look for Trevor, or sat beside you as Snape laid into you. I care, Nev."

Idly, she realizes the songbirds had gone quiet as though listening to their most private, sorrowful row.

"Well, you sure have a hell of a way of showing it, now!" he yells, stomping farther away. In his fury, she discovers the audacity to trail after him.

"Neville! Stop!"

"You lost the privilege of telling me what to do when you chose Malfoy last Christmas, Hermione!" he roars. "Krum, I accepted. After all, we were just kids and I half-adored him myself. Ron, well, that seemed inevitable after the last battle, though I thought killing Nagini might have turned your head towards me once and for all. Even your choice of Harry... I even learned to understand _that_. But that worthless scum, Hermione? _Malfoy_?"

She'd grimaced as he'd ticked off each wizard on his fingers. She closes her eyes at his admission about his feelings about vanquishing Nagini. With his pained accusation regarding Draco, her heart clutches. He couldn't possibly understand her need to heal _that _wound. She barely understood it herself. So, with knowing her own conflict, and the other secret reason she'd singled out Draco last Yuletide, Hermione wisely chooses silence over blustery explanation. Neville huffs his impatience and disgust at her sudden lack of loquaciousness.

"How odd. Nothing to say, Hermione? Nothing to answer the constant barrage of questions that have plagued me since you took up with Malfoy?" he asks. "Please, then," he says brokenly, "Just, will you, _please_, go."

At her refusal to do as he requests and her continued silence about Draco, Neville's tone turns more domineering. "I said, turn around and walk away! Just like you've done to me every year around this time, you heartless witch!"

The loathing in his frosty demand shocks her into arguing. "No!" she shouts obstinately.

"Then, _I'll _go," he announces. Brushing past her, he catches sight of her lack of appropriate footwear. _Open- toed sandals. Honestly, Hermione! _He shakes his head at her carelessness. "Take care where you step," he mutters as he passes, taking ground-eating steps back from where he came.

She laughs to herself as she views his retreating back. It isn't a mirthful laugh. She is simply relieved to still be the recipient of his unwavering, thoughtful attention, even now, when he is clearly so full of rage he can't stand the sight of her.

Giving herself a moment to recuperate, she gingerly makes her way back to The Pink House and back to Neville, gathering fuel for her defense as she looks for him. She finds him on his knees in a dirt patch in one of the greenhouses. He's shoving a hand shovel in and out of the dark earth.

"You had Hannah when Malfoy came into my life!" she accuses from the doorway, her arms akimbo, hands gripping her hips. Something flashes in his gaze when he slowly turns to look at her.

She gulps.

"You shouldn't have cared who I was seeing—," she continues, her voice trailing weakly when he stands and begins his stalking approach. Her breath stops when his boot tips touch the top edge of her sandals. "If _you _hadn't—"

"Don't you dare accuse me of assisting you with your piss poor choices," he growls menacingly, his face mere inches from hers. "You welcomed Malfoy into your bed all on your own! I had _nothing _to do with that!"

"But you had Hannah!" she stubbornly insists, her eyes beginning to tear. "It shouldn't have mattered to you who I was with!"

She watches his eyes dilate as he takes in her pained expression.

"DON'T CRY!" he shouts, pointing a dirt-encrusted, angry finger at her. "You will not cry! Do you hear me, Hermione!"

She sniffles, pulling her lips between her teeth, blinking madly to keep the fat drops at bay. "_You _are not _allowed _to shed one single tear for the mess you've made of our lives," he adds angrily, shoving himself away from her


	4. Exotic Flowers

Chapter 4: Exotic Flowers  
><strong><em>definitely M<em>**

* * *

><p>"You chose <em>Hannah<em>," she whispers wretchedly... again. "You're just as responsible, Neville! You can't blame only me for this."

He whirls around, comprehension dawning at last. "You were jealous?"

She opens her mouth to protest, but finds she is unable to lie. She looks away, feeling utterly mortified. He laughs then, a full-bellied laugh, one that makes her miserable self almost want to join in his mirth— or throw something at him.

"You chose _Malfoy _because you were..." he gasps, nearly rolling on the ground with his sudden epiphany. "... _jealous? _Of _Hannah_?"

She grabs the nearest item on a nearby worktable and hurls it at his laughing form. Thankfully, it's only a dried out sponge. After it bounces off the top of his head, Neville settles into quiet chortling, wiping his eyes, and, at last, taking in her fuming frown.

"You never unequivocally said you wanted a relationship with me," she says steadily, trying to keep the emotion from her voice.

His brows knit and all at once the anger is back.

"I told you that I loved you, EVERY BLOODY YEAR!" he grinds out. "What the buggering hell did you think _that _meant? Every year of me, pathetically waiting under a blasted weed for one meager kiss from you! What exactly did you want from me, Hermione? The words, 'Be Mine Forever' twinkling in fairy lights above your flat?"

_Actually that wasn't a half bad idea, _she thought, although her face didn't show it.

"You stood by and let me have relationships with other men without so much as a word in protest," she continues after shaking off the internal commentary. "This is the first time you've _ever _voiced your disapproval... and, what's worse is that _I _needed to be the one to find _you _in order to receive _your _reprimand!"

Stunned, he moves to his feet and approaches once more. He is glad to see her eyes are dry. He reaches out to her. She doesn't move, simply waits for his touch. She's able to breathe again when she feels the warmth of his fingers against her skin.

"I thought you were ashamed to be with me," he admits, resting a hand on her arm. "I always thought you didn't want the humiliation of being associated with fat, bumbling, stupid, forgetful old Neville. I needed _you _to decide whether you wanted to be mine. I _needed _you to choose me above all the rest. Hermione, you never did."

"I was going to tell you, that night, before you started making the motions to leave me in the lab that Krum had already asked me to the ball and I'd meant to accept. Then, well, it seemed you didn't want me to talk and, honestly, it was easier to just fall into our old patterns. But, before I could finally screw up the courage to talk to you, you'd decided on Ginny, and Harry needed me," she recalled, shaking her head. "With Voldemort's return, I thought it best that I didn't have a boyfriend... _just in case_... and you seemed contented with the way we were. The timing was just bad."

He looks at her, trying to measure the veracity of her unbelievable explanation. For being the brightest witch of her age, Hermione didn't seem to know the least bit about communicating with the opposite gender.

"I intended to seek you out over the summer, Neville. Honestly! But my parents took me on an extended holiday and you know the rest. Things escalated at school the following year. We were all trying to survive. There wasn't any time for romance. I did notice you were getting quite impressive with your wand, though, and I was upset that the other girls noticed, too. I thought you were secretly seeing Luna, actually. You seemed happy without me."

He threw his hands up in exasperation with that one.

"I couldn't be the person you needed me to be, the person _I _needed to be for _you_. I thought you deserved someone better than who I was at the time," she adds. "When I was finally ready to approach you, it occurred to me that we'd just been children when you professed to love me. I didn't think you might have still meant what you said that night. The mistletoe kisses were just you and your innate sweetness— a confirmation that you still felt fondly enough for me to make sure I wasn't feeling unloved during Yule."

"But the war eventually came to an end, Hermione," he said, a question in his statement. "And we stopped being children after that. The _way _we kissed... You had to know my feelings hadn't changed. How could you think I still didn't feel the same?"

"Blame it all on my everlasting commitment to duty. I chose friendship, and comfort once more," she bitterly admits, "It was easier. I was tired of taking risks. There were expectations of me, Neville, and you never outright told me that you wanted to be with me. Yes, you said you still loved me, but then you let me walk away. Each year, it was the same. How could I interpret _that_? I still loved you, too, but I was with..." her voice fades. "And you said nothing to indicate that my seeing someone else bothered you."

She wonders at their mutual thickness. He grumbles about all the time they'd apparently wasted.

"I had to take drastic measures when I heard about Hannah. In hindsight, choosing to be with Draco was insanity, but I had to find out if you still cared, and I knew the news of a Malfoy/Granger courtship would rock the Magical world and reach to distant corners... maybe even find you."

"Well, that explains Malfoy," he mutters, with a weary shake of his head. "You couldn't have just asked me how I felt, Hermione?"

He watches her chin raise and the muscles in her jaw clench.

"I didn't know where you were up until three weeks ago," she explained. "And besides, why didn't _you _approach me if you felt so strongly, Neville?"

"And what would I have said?" he inquires exasperatedly.

Neville leaves her to pace, dragging his soiled fingers through his dark hair. At last he stops and moves closer again, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I won't lie, Hermione. The truth is, I was intimidated," he admits this succinctly, though still lacking confidence in this one arena. "You were so openly with other wizards. Ones I admired. Ones who were my friends. Even ones who tormented me. I couldn't very well barge into your life and ruin something I thought you'd chosen for yourself. I've only ever wanted your happiness."

"And what of _yours_, Neville?" she asks pointedly, placing a palm against his stubble-roughened jaw. "There were only a handful of others, Neville, and if you hadn't noticed, not one of them lasted," she points this out matter-of-factly, staring at him eye-to-eye, her heart thundering against his. He moves his hand to her wrist, not sure whether to grab her hand or push her away.

"And how will I, compared to that stellar bunch of blokes, be any different from them?" he snorts, pushing her hand away. "I might've been a pushover for you once, but I'm through with that. Once you've had your fill of me, where will I be? You've left me before, Hermione. You might do it again. Tell me, what is it is exactly that you want from me?"

"I want _you_," she whispers passionately, resting her forehead against his chin. "I choose _you_. I need _you_. Please, Neville, don't ask me to go."

"Prove to me that you mean what you say," he dares to demand, taking a step away from the too bright promise that sparkles in her eyes. "Let's do this properly, Hermione. Dinner tonight, with friends. Nightcap, just the two of us after. We'll celebrate the Yule together on Friday night."

She thinks to protest. It's only Tuesday and she'd been actively thinking about being with him for nearly a month. Truth be told, she'd waited years to finally be with him in the most intimate of senses. But here he was, being quite bossy, and, well, she decided, he deserved to have his moment to make sure she would be careful with him. So, she thought better of making her own demands and decides to let him take the lead, just this once.

"For now, if you'd like," he magnanimously offers, "you can help me with my work. I've a new discovery. Are you interested in seeing it?"

She brightens instantly, her smile, enthusiastic. She makes an attempt to grab his hand, but he purposely avoids her touch.

"First things first, Hermione," he says, looking at her sternly. "Let's have a day dedicated to just being friends, Okay? Can we start there?"

She nods, trailing after him, unsure of how to deal with this new, unfamiliar Neville.

* * *

><p>True to his word, Neville spent the day in the most platonic of ways. He introduced her to the lab. At first, he allowed her mostly academic questions, of which she had many. She wondered at the vastness of the Muggle science library and then stood amazed at the Fidelius Charmed one down the hall meant only for wizards.<p>

They had a bagged lunch in the rainforest, reminisced about life at Hogwarts, and generally avoided conversation about their mutual friends. She told him about Crookshanks and her sadness about her parents and spoke of her general malaise about life in general.

She asked him how Zabini and Theo had come into his life. He resisted calling them his mates. He laughed saying how it was only a recent occurrence that he'd even begun thinking of them as regular blokes and not evil spawn. They'd slithered into his life, he claimed, and then, they refused to leave. Seemed he'd become a bit of a project for the former Slytherin duo.

Hermione and Neville walked back to the lab as he explained.

It was only since Hannah's departure that he'd gotten to know them. Blaise had been transferred to the island only a few months prior by one of Lucius Malfoy's companies. Zabini decided working for the older Malfoy wasn't for him and he'd landed himself at The Pink House. Theo, Neville knew, had been on the island for some time, but they'd lived separate lives, him being married and all.

One night, they'd had an accidental meeting at a local pub. It happened to be the night, about a month ago, when Neville was determined to get drunk off his arse. Zabini had been there to insult him, then in pure Blaise fashion, egged him on to greener pastures. After a few laughs, they'd fallen into a most embarrassing conversation about what caused Hannah to leave.

"And why did Hannah go?" she dared to ask, curious herself. She was leaning against the counter staring at his hands gently manipulating the petals of a very pretty orchid.

Neville turned suddenly silent.

"Because you don't call a woman another witch's name when you're in the throes of passion," came an amused reply from near the doorway. "Simply bad form, Longarse."

_Blaise._

And from the sound of the 4x4's motor, Theo wasn't far behind. Neville tossed the handsome Slytherin a long suffering look, while Hermione was left with a most curious question that left a pleased, hopeful flutter in her chest.

* * *

><p><em>Dinner... later<em>

* * *

><p>"So," Zabini drawls, his glass at his lips. "Took my advice at last, Nev?"<p>

Hermione had just gone off to the powder room, leaving the unlikely trio of Blaise, Theo and Neville at the table after a surprisingly delicious meal.

"And what advice was that?" Theo asks, somewhat curious.

"You already know, Nott. You've about said the same. I told Nev here that he had to summon his inner arsehole, live up to that ridiculous name of his, and finally grow a pair if he was ever going to get _that _witch," Blaise explains, saluting the curvaceous backside of the female in question.

"So, were you? An arse to Granger this morning?" Theo inquires of Neville sitting beside him. "She's here with me now, isn't she?" Neville replies nonchalantly, taking a swig of his drink. "I didn't know you actually had it in you, Longbottom. You should have been a Slytherin," Zabini says admiringly, raising a glass at his colleague. "Glad you weren't chosen for our House though. You'd have grown a pair much sooner than this, and once you had, you'd have been insufferable to live with. One prat in the common room was enough, thank you very much."

"Don't sleep with her, yet, mate," Theo whispers conspiratorially, "Let her work for it a bit. You don't want her tossing you aside like she did the others."

Neville turns to Theo. "What do you know about it, Nott?"

Theo looks to Blaise who nods encouragingly. "Granger doesn't like it when wizards gush poetic. She walked away from those other sods as soon as they told her they loved only her. Seems to be the kiss of death for a bloke who wants her as a wife."

"How would you know?" Neville wonders. "Learned from personal experience, have you?"

"Ask the man-slag sitting next to you," Theo suggests, his mouth tightening, even as he tilts his head toward Blaise. "Seems she confides in _him_."

"And besides, a bested Malfoy sings like a canary when you get him pissed enough," Zabini guffaws.

Neville chuckles at his half-drunk friend, lifts his own glass once more to tip the rest of the amber liquid into his mouth and a plan forms.

_Sometimes it paid to have snakes as your 'almost' mates._

* * *

><p>After Hours<p>

* * *

><p>Hermione and Neville sustained the pretense of a polite nightcap back at the Tong Chee House where Blaise and Theo had left them to themselves. She kept casting longing looks at him and it was a wonder he hadn't pounced already. When he felt it about time to leave, she impulsively grabbed his hand and led him out to the hammock on the porch.<p>

"Don't go," she whispered, climbing onto what amounted to a rope swing to Neville. "Stay with me." She lifted her mouth to his and he was lost.

All the frustration and anguish he'd felt over the years flooded into her at their meeting of mouths. The angry lash of his tongue against hers punished her for her mulish pride that had kept them apart. She admonished him as well with her fingers, pulling at his hair, until he is kneeling on the floor between her legs. Her body pushed up against his so their movements cause the hammock beneath her to swing in a pleasing rhythm to her hungry movements.

Her hands travel to release the catch of his shirt's buttons. She fails at this so she wickedly trails her fingers against the front of his trousers as his own shove the thin straps of her sundress over her shoulder. The fabric gives and allows him to feast on the near nude sight of her, relishing in her expression that all but pleads for him to take her. "You are a most maddening witch, Hermione," he breathes, reaching to catch hold of her eager fingers, just as she pushes her aching chest to his lips "You do realize that we're out in the open?" he says against her sensitive skin.

"It's late, it's secluded, and I always thought you rather enjoyed nature and all it's bountiful offerings," she giggles this wickedly as her fingers escape his hold to find him through too many layers fabric. Eager to feel him, to touch him, she grabs his cherry wood wand from his pocket, and is about to whisper a vanishing charm on their pesky clothes when his fingers grab hold of hers.

"Merlin, Hermione. Stop," he demands haltingly. She ignores him, knows he wants this just as much as she does. She can feel it in his kisses. "Hush," he breathes, pulling his wand from her grip. He urges her to lie back, first with his words, then with his hands. "Relax, Hermione. We've been here before. Let me show you how I feel when I remember you."

She was unaccustomed to this sort of gentleness during sex. Her previous experiences had been rather awkward, frantic, angry, or rushed... sometimes, all of the above. With the others she preferred it that way. There hadn't been any other time she'd allowed herself to experience anything quite as lovely as her first time with Neville. So, now, not to have _this _wizard request her mouth on him or even trying to get naked within minutes of consent was bizarre to her.

Curious, she does as he says, feels his hands slide to push the full skirt of her dress to her waist. She sighs as his hands reach for her, paying tribute to all the parts of her that strain towards him, yearning for his touch. She closes her eyes, delighting in his sure caresses. She glories in the roughness of his palm sliding against her highly sensitized front, smiles when he stops to dip into her navel. She startles, feeling the opposing grate of the roughness of his cheek and the soft brush of his hair against her inner thighs.

He whispers something when she feels the tip of his wand touch her lacy knickers. They vanish and her usually reliable sexual confidence vanishes with the scrap of material. She feel rather than sees the enjoyment Neville takes in viewing her opening to him. She struggles to pull her knees together, unused to such attention.

"Don't," he breathes. "You're beautiful. Like a rare orchid in bloom." He touches her gently, dipping his mouth to run the tip of his tongue against one of her moist petals. "Your scent is intoxicating, Hermione," he whispers lovingly. "I've thought of this moment, unfolding your secrets with the merest touch." His finger tenderly dips into her nectar and pauses to rub the hardened nub that has her shivering in anticipation of his next caress. "I imagine you taste just as sinful as the temptation you present to a man," his wicked words cause an even more visceral sensual response within her.

She whimpers, wondering at the feel of his mouth savoring her as if she were the sweetest of fruits. She colors with some embarrassment at the newness of this sort of lovemaking, realizing suddenly how he's given her another glorious first.

Masterfully, he guides her to take more pleasure in his touch. Faster his fingers work to make her writhe against him, eager for him to fill her. She is pleading for release, and then when she thinks she is unable to withstand any more, he does something truly magical with his tongue that has her screeching in ecstasy. Her muscle seize, her brain stops, her heart thunders. She grabs his hand to latch on to the world that has suddenly frayed into a kaleidoscope of color. Slowly does her brain clear and her breathing even, until she touches earth once more and a distant memory sparks in her brain.

"It was _you! _The one who Luna was talking about!" she accuses wondrously. His return look is enigmatic.

"Witches talk, Neville," she confides. Her words somewhat slurred. "Luna never did say _who_, but she described... what you just did." She smiles lazily. "And she was right, you certainly made me see..."

She is unable to finish the sentence because he kisses her most passionately and she tastes herself on his lips. Not Felix Felicis, but an elixir Neville would argue was far more powerful in its magic than the liquid luck he'd once successfully brewed.

"I was right then, you were with Luna?"

He looks at her, the witch he'd wanted for so long. Carefully, he puts her dress back to rights.

"A wizard doesn't kiss and tell, Hermione."

She gazes at him through thick lashes, adoring his chivalry. The picture she presents, spent and languorous, makes his heart sing.

"Do you truly still love me?" He doesn't realize he'd wondered this aloud. "Yes, Neville, I've always loved you," she confirms breathlessly, waiting for him to say the same.

He stills, wanting to allow the sentiment he feels in his own heart to take flight, but a painful memory stops him. Gently, he reaches out to smooth a wayward curl behind her ear. Though the love shines in his eyes, the words don't follow.

"I've got to go," he says at last, getting up to leave, presenting his back to her. A small pleased smile snakes onto his lips when he hears her dismayed sound. He turns back to view her, disheveled because of him. A pink satisfied glow around her... all because of him.

"But, I thought..." She looks at him confused. "We _haven't_— _you _haven't..." "You've always been brilliant about giving of yourself, Hermione. I think it's time you're given some lessons

on how to receive," he says quietly, the moonlight giving shape to the profile he presents her.

She narrows her gaze at him, her muscles too loose to really do much else.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he promises, bending down to give her a chaste kiss goodnight. She clutches at him, trying to draw him back into her arms. Her pretty pout pleases him— _immensely_.

He chuckles. "Get some sleep, witch," he whispers as he strides down the steps.

With a whistle on his lips, Neville realizes he might be able to capitalize on the one skill he has in spades, the very one that all the others quite clearly seemed to lack.

_Patience._

On that thought, he _Disapparates_ home


	5. Hot Island Nights

**seriously M... **

* * *

><p>Three nights of the same.<p>

Hermione doesn't know whether she is worn out from being left languid and sated each night, or frustrated with the unsatisfactory outcome of their nocturnal skirmishes. Neville wins each time, gaining the ability to focus solely on Hermione's achievement of ultimate pleasure while ensuring that she does nothing to bring about his.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that good things come to those who wait?" he teased as he waltzed out the door after kissing her goodnight.

Not one millimeter of her body was left untouched, unadored by the very thorough wizard who had made his home in her heart long before this island holiday. Her only upset was that he hadn't yet spoken the words he whispered to her under the mistletoe every year. He refused and she couldn't understand why. It scared her a little, and though she didn't realize it, her fear of losing him kept her close to Neville's side.

Between some intensely satisfying orgasmic experiences bestowed on her by the Gryffindor wizard voted least likely to ever learn how to properly use his wand, Hermione enjoyed playful banter with Zabini, met Theo's lovely little family, and lazed on the beach, reading about the upcoming Red Crab migration on the island.

Her very favorite past time, minus the obvious, of course, was watching Neville work diligently at the research center. He was extremely preoccupied with developing a new charm to propagate the pretty yellow and white flower she'd seen him closely examining on Tuesday. Since she was on vacation, she'd promised herself only light reading and she didn't want to get in his way. Besides, she doubted she'd be much use to him since her brain had turned to mush, all thanks to Neville's dogged dedication in discovering new and extremely delicious ways to make her scream out his name.

* * *

><p><em>Yule Night 2010<em>

* * *

><p>They were flying.<p>

It was Christmas Eve and he had a present for her. She never realized what an erotic experience riding a broom could be. She was sitting in front of him, astride his Hellraiser. His arms were around her, keeping her safe. He kept one hand on the broom to steer, while the other moved to keep her in a constant state of arousal. Always the scientist, Neville surmised that this way of broom riding was a good way to keep her distracted from her fear of flying, especially considering how responsive she was to his touch.

Under the cover of night, he'd given her a private tour of the island's beauty. They soared above an enchanted forest of giant Tahitian chestnuts, eventually coming to a secluded spring, where fresh water bubbled from a limestone cave before cascading over a rock ledge inlaid with an intricate pattern of moss.

"Some of the island's Chinese population believe this waterfall is the centre of the Earth's water universe," Neville explains to her, flying close enough to gather some falling water into his palm. Using his hand as a cup, he drips the warm water into Hermione's suddenly dry mouth. He tugs at her hair, pulling her face closer to his so he can kiss away the water that had dripped down her chin. His adept hand follows the rest that had trickled down her neck and into the valley between her breasts.

She wasn't quite ready to admit how clever his hypothesis was regarding how to keep her satisfactorily distracted. She'd show him soon, though, that his theory, when so skillfully applied, truly did have her thinking of the much more earthly things she was going to do to him when they'd at last touch ground.

The ground turned out to be a deserted beach very close to The Grotto, a cave carved out of the island's rugged coastline by a millennia of restless seas. Neville grabbed Hermione's hand, and points to their final destination.

"Local legend has it that the Grotto is home to an ancient dragon that swam out from China in the late 19th Century," he says, knowing her love of a good story. "They say that when the dragon finally reached Christmas Island, he was lost and exhausted. He swam into that cave to recuperate and has remained there ever since. That's where we're going, Hermione. You game?"

She smiles, a shiver of anticipation runs through her. It is night and she can't possibly imagine the questionable thrill of entering a dark cave in such darkness. She pretty much had her fill of that sort of thing when she'd been searching for horcruxes with Harry. She doesn't say anything, though, deciding to place her trust in Neville's usually sound judgment.

On Neville's broom, they hover at the cave's opening. Soaring on the warm ocean breeze, they bypass the rope Muggles use to lower themselves into the jaws of the cave. To Hermione's surprise the inside walls of The Grotto are covered with the twinkling lights of numerous candles. She is so distracted by the lovely beauty of the private oasis within the rocky cliff that Neville had to grasp Hermione's chin to urge her to look up.

"There, on the ceiling," he whispers into her ear. "Do you see it?"

She nods her yes, just able to make out the unmistakable shape of the neck and head of a dragon— complete with claws. Touched that he'd thought of all this, she kisses him impetuously. Gently he brings the broom down to the stones that lead to the lapping water of the miniature cave.

"The water here is a mix of sea and fresh water," he explains, pulling out his wand. She recognizes the warming spell, but not the other and wonders if the charm is of his own invention.

She watches, hypnotized as his fingers begin the task of undressing. Hermione moves forward, unable to watch without assisting. He traces the outline of her jaw as her fingers trouble themselves with his fastenings.

"Beautiful," he whispers as he pulls at the bows that hold her dress to her shoulders. It flutters to the ground as he imagines the snowflakes must now be doing back in London.

As nude as Adam and Eve, the two make their way into the water. To Hermione's delight the water is perfectly comfortable and she finds he's magicked a ledge on which they can sit together so that they are just about up to their necks in the lovely blue water.

When she settles, he moves beside her, drawing her into a kiss that has her hands greedily roving his body. He waves his wand once more and she laughs as he conjures fast fizzing bubbles that dance in the water around them. He raises an eyebrow and sends her a mischievous grin, before flicking his wrist again. In response, the bubbles turn rather frisky on her already aroused self.

"Oh!"

She manages only this one exhalation when the tickling effervescence moves strategically over her already highly sensitized bits. "Merlin, Neville! Where did you learn that!" she gasps, reaching out to him. He is there, grasping her fingers, laughing at her wide-eyed, somewhat scandalized expression.

She sighs happily when his fingers and mouth replace the rather 'fresh' water.

"You ruined all other wizards for me, you know?" she sighs luxuriously after a very thorough snog. "Not one of them ever quite measured up to you."

Hearing words every wizard dreams of, Neville's amused smile slowly turns into an all out grin. To be compared to the likes of her former partners and come out the winner? Well, that certainly did wonders for his ego.

"I didn't know much about what went on between a man and woman when you and I were together that one time," he says, voice rough with emotion, still incredulous at her admission. "You were my very first, Hermione."

She lowers her lashes only to look up at him wide-eyed and wearing a beguiling smile.

"As you were mine," she says, massaging his temples and running her fingers through his hair. "I think I've known all along that all I've ever really wanted is for you to be my last, Nev—"

Swooping in for another kiss, he doesn't allow her to finish saying his name. He pulls her onto his lap and she is exultant to feel him skin-to-skin against her at last. She sighs happily. Like a cat against a catnip post, she rubs herself against the long, lean strength of his body.

Holding him in her hand, she waits for him to indicate that it's OK. Neville had nudged her seeking fingers away from him too many times these prior nights and Hermione didn't want to be disappointed again. She feels his heated palms on the sides of her waist. She watches his eyelids drift closed, but not so quickly that he misses her smile in that age-old feminine way.

"I love you, Neville. I never stopped," she breathes against his ear, positioning him at the entrance of her own secret cavern. She teases him, hovering just above him. "Tell me you love me, too."

He shakes his head, his jaw working, his fingers gripping. He wants to pull her down, but knows that this time she commands the dance.

"Why won't you say what I most want to hear from you?" she cries softly against his neck. "Please, Nev."

"Because you'll leave me, Hermione," his worried outburst leaves him on a rough exhale. The torture of her so very close nearly shatters him. "You'll leave me, just as you've done before. Just as you did with all the others." Her brows knit and she moves to sit astride his lap, unconcerned with their nudity.

"They all actually told you I left after they professed their feelings to me?" she asks incredulously. "Blaise and Theo told me, second hand," he confesses.

She swallows, and pulls him into a tight embrace so even the water has no room to pool between them. His rigid arousal is trapped between. Her mouth moves to his in an effort to assure him of her intentions. Her eyes open, witnessing his instantaneous reaction to her.

"None of them knew why I left, though," she utters this quietly, her lips never leaving his. "They only knew the words that triggered my leaving."

It's his turn for confusion. "Why did you leave, them, Hermione?"

She smiles warmly. "I left each one because the words 'I'll always love you,' sounded wrong when the wizard who spoke them wasn't you."

He moans as she grasps onto him again, sliding him home. Her hips move to encourage him to move more swiftly beneath her. He doesn't need an additional cue. Soon the sounds of their lovemaking mimics the sultry sounds the wave motion makes as it pounds through the cave's narrow openings.

All at once he feels her grip him in an tight, internal embrace. He throws his head back, unable to contain his exultation. He groans, and discovers himself utterly unable to formulate words, much less speak the ones she wishes most to hear.

As his eyes regain the ability to focus, he stares up at the ceiling and smiles.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he whispers, feeling her cheek against his shoulder. "It's midnight, love."

"How do you know?" she asks, ever curious.

"Look up."

She does and she is rewarded with the sight of hundreds of yellow and white orchids clinging to the cave ceiling.

"You developed the charm! They're beautiful!" she cries enthusiastically. "It's too bad they're not mistletoe," she adds on a wistful note.

"Oh, but they are, Hermione," he reveals, effervescent joy in his eyes, his lips ready for her once more. "It's the rarest tropical mistletoe species in the world, right here, surrounding you on Christmas Island."

His forehead rests against hers, the tips of their noses touch.

"I'll always love you, Hermione," he says, heart in hand as he pulls her into a kiss that she knows she'll remember all the days of her life. When they at last come up for air, she takes a moment to gaze over his shoulder and discovers fairy lights twinkling at the rear of the cave.

"Be Mine Forever," they read.

She turns to him and his bashful smile never fails to endear. Enthusiastically, she throws her hands around the shoulders of the man she loves, laughs aloud, and shouts her yes to the dragon of the cave.

"By the way, Hermione, that bit about me being your last," he playfully reminds her, "that starts tonight, love."

Willingly, and for the rest of her magical life, Hermione allows herself to be pulled back into the warmth of the island water and Neville's loving arms.

*** ~ Finite Incantantum ~ ***


End file.
